


Blue Hair, Blue Eyes

by ThtGrnGntlmn



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kinda not, M/M, cal and ashton are bad friends and play pranks on their youngest friend, it's kinda fluffy, you tell me i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThtGrnGntlmn/pseuds/ThtGrnGntlmn
Summary: luke hemming’s asshole friends decided it would be funny to unknowingly dye his hair bright blue. now he’s at the store figuring out what the hell all of this hair stuff is when a certain sales associate with striking red hair gives him a hand





	Blue Hair, Blue Eyes

I woke up that morning with difficulty. My eyes could barely stay open as I went to take a shower. Every step sent a wave of light nausea through me. Every beam of light that passed my face by became a glimpse of searing pain, hitting my brain like a baseball making contact with a bat that had been moving at 100 miles per hour. When I turned the water on, I physically flinched at the loud sound. As I (begrudgingly) ducked past the curtain, the hot water eased the tension in my shoulders. Not in my stomach, though, but you can only ask for so much.

_Why. So much. Alcohol._

My brain barely formed coherent sentences. It hurt to think too much. I didn’t even bother trying to recollect what happened the night prior, knowing it wouldn’t be much. And even the moments I might’ve remembered still had the slightest possibility of being something straight out of my imagination. Either way…

I gently toed out of the shower while wrapping a towel around my waist. That proved to be more difficult as it should’ve been, considering that I slipped on the wet tile floor and knocked my head into the counter.

“Fuuucccccckkkkkkkkk,” I groaned. I put a hand to my forehead and felt something wet and a bit sticky. My head was bleeding.

_“Fuuuuuucccccckkkkkk.”_

I plucked up my towel from the floor and heaved a long sigh. I secured it around my waist–tightly–all the while muttering profanities under my breath. It felt like the world was testing me.

_Gotta hangover? Are you already lanky and clumsy in the first place?  Would you like a headache that’ll last for days? Congratulations! You’re the lucky winner. To collect your prize just. Just be yourself._

And that I did.

I pulled out some Band-Aids from one of the drawers in my bathroom just in case. It wasn’t until I went to inspect the cut is when I saw it. I dropped the box in horror.

_What the fuck. What the_ fuck?

“ _What the_ actual _fuck?!”_  The sound of my own loud voice made me wince. I leaned in closer to  the mirror and ran my hands through my hair. _Oh my god. Ohhhh myyyy goooddddd._

Blue. All I saw. Was… just. Fucking blue. My hair was bright blue. Like god damn fairy floss. _This can’t possibly be my own reflection._  I tugged hard on my hair, praying to the gods above that this was some kind of practical joke. Unfortunately, I yelped at the pain that blossomed over my scalp, then frowned.

_How could this have happened? I mean, I know I was drunk but I didn’t think I was_ that _far gone. Who could’ve–?_

My brain processed a lot slower than it should’ve, but it eventually clicked into place.

“ _CALUUUMMM!”_

_13 hours earlier_

“Aw, man, I need to dye my hair again, my roots are comin’ in,” I said. And by said, it was more like a slur.

I hadn’t gotten out of work until 7, while Calum and Ashton got out even later. After a long week’s work, we thought a good ol’ guys’ night was in order, thus leading us to our go-to bar at 10 PM. The drinking had started a bit late, seeing as it was a Friday night, but that hadn’t mattered. Our goal was to have fun and to not worry about what happened during the week.

I was about two shots and a three and a half a beers into our endeavor when I said this. We had been in the normal cover band bar for maybe an hour until we opted out to go to a club instead. Hot, sweaty bodies were all around us as we sat in a booth,  sipping away at our drinks. Ash and I went with a typical beer while Calum went with his usual frilly drink. Some bright pink thing with an umbrella leaning on the side.

(“Dude, how do you _drink_ that?”

“What, it tastes good! Better than that piss you guys drink all the time.”)

There was a mirror to my left where I closely (and drunkenly) studied my hair. The mop of brown on top of my head looked fine, yet it was still obvious that some blond was peeking through.

“Luke, it’s like, completely fine. Don’t worry, bro.” Calum tried to console me. He always appeared more sober than he actually was, which annoyed me to no ends, but he probably said that to get me to stop talking about myself.

I whined. “Nooooo, it’s sooooo baaadddd, Callie. Like. Really. It’s a really bad, um. Sombrero.”

“Sombrero?” Ashton questioned.

“Sombrie…? Osmrey… os- osmosis?”

“Ombré?” Cal supplied.

“Yeah, that,” I replied, grateful. “Ommmmm… breeeeee…” I took another swig from my glass as I drawled out the word.

Ash giggled. “We can help ya out, buddy, and fix up your roots tonight. If ya- if ya wanna,” he hiccupped.

I looked between them and nodded vigorously. Cal and Ash shared a look I couldn’t quite understand, but Ash was smirking.

_This will be fine._

“Alright, boy-o, let’s get ‘er done.”

_Present_  
I scanned the rows upon rows of different hair products, trying to figure out what _the hell_ half of this stuff even means. _I don’t know how to use hair dye. Let alone how to use bleach. A professional does my hair. Why is there so much to look at. Why._

Although, just as I was about to give up and consider shaving my hair off completely–

“Can I help you find anything today, sir?”

My head pivoted in the direction of the new voice, almost reluctant to do so… but then I remembered that I put a beanie on over my hair before I left the house. And a pair of sunglasses, even though the weather was fairly cloudy. Hangovers are classy as shit, if I do say so myself.

I first noticed the shocking red hair. Like… _red_ -red. Fire engine red.

I looked down from my stupor of, “Wow that’s red,” to find the waiting face of the sales associate to my right. His smile was polite, in that helping-customers kind of way.

“Um…” I thought. “Yeah. Please, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.” I poked at a couple of jars of dye in frustration. “This isn’t really something I do.”

The sales associate’s–whose name tag read as, “Michael”–smile widens, almost into a kind of smirk. “Well, luckily for you, I happen to know a thing or two about dying hair and whatnot.”

I laughed at that. “Thought you might.”

Michael laughed as well; a cute, tiny titter I wasn’t expecting from such a lanky person. He continued on without pause. “So, what hair color were you looking for?”

“Just brown.”

“Brown?”

“Brown.”

Michael seemed to think for a moment. “Okay, what’s your hair color now?”

I scratched the back of my neck, and let loose a self-deprecating chuckle. “Um…” _Just show him. It can’t be that bad._ In one fluid motion i pulled the beanie off my head.

I heard a gasp and flinched. I warily opened my eyes-which I didn’t realize I had closed- and snuck a glance at the guy. Instead of being wide-eyed, disgust-filled, and ready to combust from repulsion… I found him wide-eyed and entranced.

I looked around our vicinity, thinking maybe- _just maybe-_ he might be gawking at someone else. Alas, there’s was literally no one except us in the aisle.

My cheeks flamed as he took his hand and sorted through a few locks, and I squirmed under his touch.

I’m not sure if he noticed my discomfort, yet he pulled his hand  back anyways. “Sorry, dude, it’s just… it’s _so fucking pretty.”_ Something close to shock passed over his face. “Er, sorry, I mean it looks really nice.”

I scoffed. “Nice? Yeah, right.”

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together, though he said nothing about my remark. I was grateful, sighing silently.

“What kind of brown were you looking for?”

“Dunno. Usually get it done professionally. It’s like… warm? I’m not entirely sure.”

“Ooh. Fancy. I do my hair myself.” He beamed confidently at me. It was kind of adorable. Never thought I’d describe a sales associate with punk tattoos as adorable.

Michael returned his attention to the wall of jars and bottles, teeming with hundreds of colors just waiting to be put in someone’s hair. I observed him warily, as he placed his hands his hands on his hips, deep in thought. “I’m presuming that your natural hair color isn’t brown.” He spoke suddenly, yet never took his always off the shelves.

“Uh, yeah. ’S blond, actually.”

“Hm. What type?”

“Like. Dark?”

“M'kay.”

He didn’t continue like I thought he would. A few moments later he picked up two small black pots, and held them up close to his face. After a second, he put one back and reached across me to get something from a different section. He studied those two individually as well, then turned to me, one pierced eyebrow raised.

“Are you positive you don’t want to go back to blond?” Michael asked.

I was a little taken aback by the question in itself. “I mean, I dunno. I’ve had brown hair since I was…” I thought about it for a second, “fifteen? Sixteen? So, like, at least five years.”

Michael’s eyebrows about shot up into his hairline. “Five years of the same hair color? Man, I can barely even keep the same hair color for five _days._ Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but, still. _Five years?_ That is a really long time, dude.”

I laughed. “I guess you’re right… I never really thought about it like that before.”

I mulled the thought through my brain. _Blond. Brown._

“… So?”

I looked Michael in the eyes. “So…” I grinned. “I think a change is in order.”

Michael cheered triumphantly, placing the brown dye back on the shelf, excitedly babbling over the fact that he got me to try something different. He stopped suddenly as he handed me the _blond_ dye and said, “Wait, dude, who’s gonna do your hair then? Like, you’re, um… current hair looks alright, if not a little amateur.”

My eyes widened at the comment, and I immediately tugged my beanie back over my head, cheeks burning red.

“Oh, shit, no I meant–” Michael’s hand flew up to his mouth, maybe surprised that he let those words slip out. “It just looks a little messy, but it looks intentional. No one would know unless you told them.”

I brought my hands away from my hat, but kept it on regardless.

“Anyway. Since I don’t think whoever did your hair was very good, you might not want them to do it.”

“Wait, how did you know that a friend dyed my hair?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Said that you normally get it done professionally. Now, do you think you’ll need help with this? ’M only asking 'cause I’m pretty good with hair.”

I worked my teeth on my lip. _Is he insisting that_ he _should come help? He could be a serial killer, Luke._ I decided against my better judgment as the words left my mouth. “Yeah, probably.” I quickly added on, “How soon could you be able to do it?”

“Uh, tonight. I get off my shift in about an hour. Think you can wait that long?”

I chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to.”

We walked off to the check out, talked about who was going when and where and all the tiny little details. As he had my things rung up, we chatted casually and exchanged numbers.

“Oh, I’m Michael, by the way.” He held out his hand, the other occupied with my phone.

“Luke,” I responded with a smile.

To be funny, he made his name “Hair Dude,” in my phone, to which I made my name in Michael’s phone as “Dye-ing.” He chuckled with a shake of his head. Lightly shoving me in the shoulder, he sent me on my way.  


Later that night, I anxiously awaited the arrival of Sales-Associate-Michael. Perfectly reasonable to invite a complete stranger over into your home, right?

I yelped at the sudden knocking on the door from the abrupt loudness. I basically ran to the door and flung it open to a smirking Michael, a beat-up backpack resting on one shoulder. “Bad timing?” He chuckled.

“Oh, nah. ’S fine, dude.” I stepped to the side, and he hopped right on inside. “So… bathroom, then?”

“Bathroom.”

It wasn’t too awkward as I showed the red-headed boy down the hall. Well, I was pretty awkward while I tripped over scattered clothing, but Michael seemed cool and collected, as if he’s used to this kind of thing. I had set everything out before Michael arrived out of plain anxiety. Kinda wished that I’d picked up more of the house, though.

“Here we are,” I said as we approach the dark entryway.

“Sweet,” Michael nodded. Flipping on the light, he analyzed the bathroom. “Got black towels?”

I paused, then hung my head at the question. “Shit. No, I don’t.”

“Ah, no worries, man. I brought some, just in case.”

I sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God. My roommate would be so pissed off if any more towels got hair dye on them.”

Michael nodded again and pulled some towels–as well as a few other things–out of his bag and prepped for work.

“Want something to drink?” I asked. “Water, Coke, lemonade…?”

“Just water’s fine, thanks.”

“Alright, just water,” I repeated. Before fully rounding the corner, I remembered another question. “Oh, also, do you have any preference in music? I have a few albums I could put on.”

“Mm… Have any Green Day albums?”

“'Course! I’ll put on one of 'em. I’ll be right back.”

I retreated to my kitchen, then living room, for only a few minutes, and returned to Michael humming softly to the song playing over the speakers.

“Ready?” I set down the water bottle and clapped my hands together.

“Yep. You?”

I inhaled deeply. “As I’ll ever be.”

With that, Michael spewed out warnings and cautionary phrases (“It might not be completely blond.”).  I’m not sure if it was for my own personal peace of mind, but either way my palms were sweating like crazy.

As time rolled on, I notice that he hadn’t stopped humming since the albums played on. At one point he was even singing under his breath. He had a really nice voice.

“Oh, I, um…” Michael blushed. Apparently I had said that out loud. “I mean I sound alright, I think. Could be better.” He smiled sheepishly and resumed his work.

“No, really, dude. It’s really good. Seriously.”

He only blushed harder at that, and bit his lower lip. He looked kinda… cute.

I kept quite after that, allowing Michael to finish without interruption (and so he’d hopefully start singing again). (And he did.) Being so close to him made every breath I took filled with his cologne, too. It was extremely musky. To the point where I could accurately say it reminded me solely of hot guys.

After what could be described as a painstakingly insufferable (but incredibly interesting) couple of hours, Michael announced, with great pride, “Done!”

I was pulled out of my reverie of Michael’s magical massaging fingers. Timidly, I sat up, preparing myself for the worst. After I quickly glanced at the mirror, my mouth gaped open like a fish. I had to double take. Instead of the typical brown (or even blue for that matter), I was blond. Like really blonde.

“Oh my God!” The words slip out unintentionally, my mind struggling to keep up with everything.

“Like it?” Michael asked, arms crossed over his chest.

I nod vigorously. I play with the freshly dried locks and inspect that strands closely. “I feel like I’m fifteen again.”

I couldn’t stop looking at my reflection. _Must be dreaming._

“Oh, this is real life, sweetheart. And, not to toot my own horn or anything, but uh,” Michael smirked, “I think I did a splendid job.”

I would have rolled my eyes at his little jab if it wasn’t true. Yet, it _was_ true so I couldn’t help but beam.

For the next few minutes–after stopping to peer at my reflection every thirty seconds or so–we cleaned up my mess of a bathroom. As we finished, Michael packed up his things, almost as if it were his cue to leave.

“Hey, you don’t have to go immediately. You could stay and… hang out for a little while?” I smiled sheepishly. “If you want, I mean.” I added as an afterthought.

“Appreciate the offer, but I’ve got places to be. Not to be rude, or anything.” Michael said with a shrug.

A little pang hit me in the chest. “Oh, uh. Okay.”

I showed him to the door without so much as a word after that. My shoulders slumped over just a tad. I was _enjoying_ Michael’s company. I didn’t want him to _leave_.

Right before I closed the door, Michael leaned one arm against the door jamb while his other hand rested on his hip. “Y'know,” he stated, “I really didn’t mean to come off as rude. I mean, I genuinely _do_ have places to be but… yeah. Anyway…”

I chewed at my lip and nodded once. “Yeah, that’s fine. No worries, man.”

He grinned. “Alright, cool.” Michael leaned away as if he were going to leave, but pulled back. There was a pondering look in his eyes. “Hey, um… Actually, I…” He cleared his throat. “You seem like a pretty cool dude. It’d be a shame not to see you again.”

I blushed a bit under Michael’s stare. Something in his eyes…

“I would ask for your number, but I already have it. So I could, theoretically, just text you.”

“True,” I mused curiously.

“Yet, I wouldn’t get to see your reaction if I asked you out on a date.”

_What_.

“You heard me. You. Me. Going out. On a date. What d'ya think?”

My face bloomed a bright red as I uttered a very quiet, “I’d love to.”

Michael laughed. His laugh was so nice. Like music. “Alright.” A smile a mile wide stretched across his cheeks. “Alright, sounds good. I’ll text you later, then?”

I couldn’t get any coherent words out, so I went with a simple nod.

With that, Michael sent me a departing grin and started off down the hallway. I closed the door behind his departing figure and slid down the wall.

_Oh my God._


End file.
